So, story 200 is about to begin. Here is the synopsis: Finally settled in to a comfortable life in the suburbs, John Reese has left his vigilante life behind. Settled in as John Warren with a cushy office job, a loving wife, and an adorable daughter, there isn't much more he can want out of life...until the past comes back to haunt. A chance crossing of paths, three men with revenge on their minds have beaten the system and now want some payback. With nothing to stop them, they will hit hard and fast, but with his family's lives at stake, will John Warren stand back and let the law do its job? Or will The Man In The Suit take on the bad guys in a winner takes all where the stakes are high and the cost could be insurmountable? No matter what he chooses, he's about to discover there is no easy way out.
Song prompt: "No Easy Way Out" by Robert Tepper (from Rocky IV)
No Easy Way Out
City of New York Department of Correction, Rikers Island, New York City.
The heat of the September sun bounced off the concrete of the prison rec yard to make the unbearable heat even more so. Stripped down to their waist of the oppressive prison issued uniform tops, men gathered to play basketball. Not your typical game, it was more of an "S to Life" - a free for all, no rules. You played to win, or you didn't play at all.
Those not participating tried to cool down by hiding in the little shade offered by the brick walls or they did their own version of calisthenics with the cheap, improvised equipment. But it was the one person off in the corner who seemed to be more content with isolation that joining the groups.
Leaning his bald head against the cool brick, Jarek Koska watched with feigned interest. Seven years in hell and he was chomping at the bit to get out. Sure, okay, so he'd kidnapped the son of a federal judge and had been laundering money through the backdoor of a major bank, but it wasn't as though he had really killed anyone. Maybe the worst of his his deeds hadn't been discovered, but that didn't mean he needed to be doing time.
"What's up, road dog?" asked the towhead figure approaching. He extended his fist. The gesture was returned as Koska extended his fist and bumped. Road dog was an affectionate term for close friends. Although not bosom buddies, they did have more than a couple of things in common that had drawn them to form an unlikely alliance.
"Not much. Thinking." Koska cast a sideways glance at Byron. The leader of the skinheads had somehow sealed a bond with the leader of SP-9, but neither seemed to care. They ruled the joint, and no one messed with them.
"No way to break out of this hell hole," Byron observed. "No 'Shawshank' happenin' here. Not since they replaced the silverware with sporks."
"Breaking out." Koska shook his head. "You think I'm going to get another 115?" he asked rhetorically. "I have six months left; I'm going to play nice. No need to get hit again."
"Six months... Any plans after that?"
"Heh. What do you think?"
"I'm thinking that you have revenge on the mind. Some asshole in a suit – the same one who landed my ass here. If he's even alive," Byron added with a shrug.
"Oh, he's alive. A man of that skill trying to infiltrate us... Remember how he got all cozy with Elias? I'm betting money he's on the payroll."
"Elias is gone."
"Elias is hiding out. He's in plain sight, trust me. Last I heard, he took over the Russian territory. I know who helped him." Koska spit a wad of mucus on the hot sidewalk and watched as it sizzled. He had no love for the bastard son of a mafia don. As far as he was concerned, Elias should have been taken out when the attack on his lieutenant went down. To his consternation, the prison had gone into lock-down to protected Elias before he was whisked away in the middle of the night.
"The race traitor," Byron supplied dryly and spit on the ground. "I remember how he seemed so intent on protecting Leon's sorry ass. Not only does he steal my money, the punk stole my dog. Titus would love to get hold of them both." He nodded toward the large, burly man doing squats with a barbell laden with weights.
"He also wants to get even with the bitch detective who put him away," Byron finished.
"The Man in The Suit and a bitch detective. Two birds and no stone." Koska fought the urge to punch the brick wall. He closed his eyes and tried to count to ten. "I'd love to get my hands on him.
"Well, the odds of the three of us getting out at the same time is rarer than being paroled early," Byron remarked. "Besides, how would we find them? Manhattan is a big place."
"Cops never stop being cops. Especially one who is by the book."
"We kill a cop, we'll be doing a 'Day and Night' for sure," Byron reminded the man. "I ain't comin' back here if I ever get out," he said with finality.
"I don't want to spend a moment longer in here than I have to." Koska stretched his neck to see if anyone had overheard the conversation. "When I get out of here, I have a plan. Involves you and Titus...if you want it. It means laying low and getting out when all is said and done. You in?"
Byron took a minute to weigh the offer and the pros and cons that went along with it. "I want it," he finally decided. The quest for revenge was greater than any consequence. "The question is when?"
The sound of a whistle reverberated around the yard. Inmates stopped what they were doing and focused their attention on the door leading out to the rec yard.
"Line up!" One of the guards commanded as reinforcements followed him and stood ready for any fracas or unruly prisoners.
Reluctant, yet curious, the prisoners fell in to form five neat rows. The silence fell heavy as they waited in the baking sun for what ever came next.
"Some of you ladies just won the lottery of a lifetime," one of the guards announced in a loud authoritative tone. Holding their questions, the inmates looked at one another as they waited for the other shoe to drop. A short man, dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit, stepped forward.
"Seems between budget cuts and overpopulation of the prison system, a few of you are going to be paroled early. Don't think of it as 'good behaviour'; your sorry ass just got lucky. Damn 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card."
With deliberate hesitation, the Warden took his time scrolling down the roll call sheet and made a show of turning pages. Hell, what did he care? They still had the better part of an hour remaining of rec time, and it wasn't as though anyone was going to melt in the sun. He glanced up at the faces and tried to hide his disgust. As far as he was concerned, there was no reason to release anyone – there was plenty of room. But the call was out of his hands, and he had to do as the powers that be directed, or be out of a job.
"When you hear your name, step forward," the warden commanded. "You'll be escorted to your cell to collect your personal belongings, and then sent for processing out. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir!" the group responded in unison.
"The first name on the list..."